And They All Fall Down
by The What-If Writer
Summary: One-Shot. (For now.) Xibalba finds himself being offered an interesting bet.


_Talk about biting off more than I can chew. I have two other fanfics and a very busy life right now, so this continuing soon may not be possible. It will remain separate for now; a small 'opening' piece to an idea I had. Another small written piece can be found on my DA account along with two Xibalba pictures (one picture has the written work underneath, connection to this story here.)_

_Hope you enjoy, and please review._

**_SLIGHT SPOILERS._**

_I think._

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><p>They All Fall Down<p>

**_"Modern man likes to pretend that his thinking is wide-awake. But this wide-awake thinking has led us into the mazes of a nightmare in which the torture chambers are endlessly repeated in the mirrors of reason."_**

**_Octavio Paz_**

Death was not something to be feared, if you where certain someone would remember you. If you had arms around you on the day of your birth, if you had cheering voices at every birthday, if your eye met with someone else's for more than a second glance, you had nothing to fear. But if you didn't have any of those, death was feared.

Ignacio had heard of far off countries where the sun barely shined and the rain came as frequently as clockwork, where people viewed death with terror and did everything to ensure they didn't go to the wrong place. Their wrong place was apparently far more terrible than the Land of the Forgotten. After all, what's so bad about being forgotten, when you get down to it...?

Ignacio wondered how he'd ended up here. He supposed they knew him; the orphan who begged at the streets. The nuns where kind, yet the rumours that followed him never ceased no matter how much time passed. Bad luck followed Ignacio, and it seemed it had attracted the attention of everyone.

Even the Gods.

...

"_Xibalba_ old chum..."

The slithering, soft voice of the sunk through the air like water seeping into moist soil on a rainy day. The sky was bright with oceans of stars, the houses jutting out upwards outlined in black. The beaming light behind window panes and shutters gleamed softly in the street, casting warm shadows as muffled music and chatter floated down the roads. Everyone was inside tonight; away from the soft but cold wind that whistled between their homes. The stillness outside was stark different from the joy inside, almost like the two separate ands below.

The creature was slid from the wall into the town square was decidedly grey; his face was smooth yet hard, skull-shaped and made entirely of stone. A gaping hole sat where a nose should be, and a pair of golden coins rolled back and forth in unison, glinting bright in the evening light, the only thing colourful about his form. Aton his head laid two bull-like horns, as stone as the rest of him. From them hung wooden trinkets bound with string.

His wide-sleeved cloak covered his entire frame; from his broad pointed shoulders down to the bird-like talons that ventured out from the bottom of the cloak. They where covered in looping, circular Aztec markings; A stringy beard that reached all the way to the floor, trailing behind him as he slid, like a cart on wheels, towards his target.

The pair of Aztec coins that made up his eyes where focused on the slumped-shouldered form made of jar nearby, who almost jumped in alarm – must to his indignity. Xibalba turned, straightening himself up to his full height and set his staff down with an audible clank. " Ladrón de Moneda...what a pleasure it is to see you again."

The flatness in his tone, coupled with his raised white brows and the totally lack of enthusiasm made sure the other being knew otherwise. And considering Xibalba had no interest in speaking to him despite not seeing another being (that comprehended what he said no less, unlike the souls that wandered around his realm) it truly meant something. Xibalba adjusted his jaw as if trying to rid it of stiffness.

Ladron de Moneda wasn't deterred. He slid in front of him, his body barely moving an inch. "Oh, what a wit you are...If I had not known any better, I'd have said you where avoiding me."

Xibalba, being notably taller, cocked a brow down at him. "...What makes you say that?"

The other being chortled, merrily. Xibalba, already in a foul mood in having to sneak around like this on a daily basis, did not join him. His chuckle trailed off as an old man, hobbling on a wooden cane, made his slow way by them. Moneda eyed him down disapprovingly, as if the old man had deliberately disturbed his laugh.

His ridiculously long beard lifting off the ground and, his arms (if they where even existent) unmoving as it reached to the old man. Xibalba watched, hiding the spark of interest that gleamed inside his oily form as the tip of the long beard tapped the elderly man on the head.

He hit the floor a second later, not a gasp, not a sound. Like a sack of flour he fell and went still. Moneda cackled loudly, his eyes wide with glee. "Mortals never seem to add dramatics to their ends here; I heard in the cold countries they do a great deal of begging for forgiveness before they go..."

His gravelly voice lowered as he said it, and he slid off like a statue being pushed across the ground rather than a person walking. Xibalba whipped after him, appearing beside him on the next rooftop, his interest caught.

"I take it you sought me out for a reason, Moneda?" He drawled, stroking his goatee as he watched him. The pair of golden coins rolled his way, glinting almost playfully.

"I take it you'll be running to tattle-tell to La Muerte about what just _occurrrred_?" He crooned softly. Xibalba snorted, rolling his eyes and leaning on his purple staff in annoyance.

"What do you take me for? It isn't like I haven't sped up the misery of a mortal before." He said dryly. What she did not know couldn't hurt her.

He just wished that the stone being would stop beating around the bush and say what he wanted to say. Xibalba didn't even know why he was speaking to him; maybe being down in that wasteland was beginning to get to him at last. To make matters worse, La Muerte had kept her guard up for the first few hundred years, making sure he didn't meddle in any mortal affairs. Perhaps she'd almost forgotten about him, considering he was here. And so was Moneda, whom she despised more than anything he could think of and considering they were together and Moneda had just bended the rules were saying something.

Perhaps she was busy tonight.

"I was bored, Xibalba...aren't you bored?" The slithery voice of the stone creature a few yards away called out softly, like an owner calling their cat for dinner. Xibalba raised a brow in annoyance once more, remembering La Muerte wasn't the only one who disliked the man.

His annoyance vanished seconds later.

"I had an idea for _a wager."_

Wagers. Bets. Games. Deals. The flaws of deities, the weaknesses of the immortal. The things that could break the laws of reality, of life and death, and downright break the rules. Give something to get something. Wagers where the thing that could get a God's attention all right. They had nothing they couldn't gain, no material possession or pleasure that mortals craved. But wagers...

Xibalba turned around to face him full on, eyes locked on him and unblinking. "A wager, you say...? Tell me...what kind of wager?"

Modena heard the hunger in his voice and the desire to for the game glinting in his eyes. He gave a sort snicker and beckoned with a tilted of his head, his form whipping into a grey pile of sand speeding through the air. Xibalba's form morphed into a trail of zigzagging tar after it, and the two blurs whipped all the way to the outer sides of the town to the waterside.

They landed side-by side on the wooden maritime. Xibalba glanced around, seeing nothing, but Moneda continued to grin dastardly. He gestured slowly with his head to the left, not looking himself, as if knowing already what was there. Xibalba pivoted his head, his eyes narrowing.

A boy wandered into the light cast by the candles in the lanterns above. It was quieter here; the townspeople had all travelled to the centre for their indoor parties. The boy was dressed in baggy, faded clothing; a poncho with red skulls clumsily knitted in being the oldest, looking like it had seen better days a hundred years prior. He was coated in a lair of dust; patches of dirt dry on his face and undisturbed, as if he found it as normal as having hair on his head.

"A guttersnipe?" Xibalba commented, unimpressed. He cackled gently.

"Oh not just any guttersnipe. This little ragamuffin was once a pawn in the game of someone you ran into not long ago in this century..." He said lightly, leaning over to him as if whispering a delicious secret, the two beings watching the boy wandering around the trash. "..._Chakal_ the bandit king."

Xibalba's posture stiffened. Ah yes, how he could forget. Not many mortals had the gall – or smarts – to be able to steal from a God. Arguable, obtaining the power he did but having it stripped away was almost as bad as having no power at all. But why would Chakal employ such a skinny little thing?

"What is your wager...?"

The stone man chortled quietly, tilting his head. "This boy has two enemies. Chakal, whom he has fled...and the guardians of this town, who would love to see him behind bars."

"He is just a child of no worth." Xibalba said plainly, shrugging. As he turned away, disinterested, the other being chimed after him.

"Oh ho, only if you did not know that he helped in the death of one of the town's mighty heroes...he is not so innocent. Perhaps not evil...but not very smart."

Ambiguous, this child was perhaps. Xibalba eyed the boy; small, slight, with a pointed face and sharp cheekbones. A pair of light hazel eyes scanned his whereabouts, sharp and alert, and oddly tidy black hair combed back over his head. Nothing special about his face, he looked less interesting that the dirt that coated it.

Then he saw the dagger. Xibalba's eyes caught it, shining and clean, hanging by his chest under his poncho; the fabric of which lifted when he reached up towards a bottle on a windowsill. Silvery blade and a bone hilt, whittled in skull-shaped carvings, and along the blade green marks waved along it like a river; curling and bright. "...How interesting..." He smirked a little.

"As I said; Chakal wishes him dead, or perhaps at _least _severely injured." Maneda knew he had Xibalba's undivided interest now, and he slid up to his side, grinning fiendishly to compliment Xibalba's own look, "And this town's beloved General Posada would love to see him behind bars forever for his aiding said Bandit King...question is..."

"..Who will find him first?" Xibalba finished smoothly, stroking his chin in thought, glancing upward. Ah, how he loved the simplicity of a bet. Chakal or Posada? Well, with the quote-on-quote 'men' in his elite, he doubt that old fool would find the boy first. But Chakal's men weren't too bright, and the giant wouldn't do all the searching himself.

"So...Who do you wager will seal the boy's fate first?" Modena crooned from behind, grinning pointedly, displaying a row of uneven, sharp, golden teeth. Xibalba looked over his shoulder, eyeing him through the flames of his enviously coloured candles.

"Very well, Old Friend...I bet that Chakal will seal his fate first." He turned to face him, elongated hand stretched out for the shake. The stone man slid forward, back still as straight as a post.

"And I bet that the town will seal his fate first." He concluded, grinning mirthlessly. Xibalba idly wondered if he'd finally use his hands for once, if they existed – and blinked when his beard lifted up and curled around his fingers; he almost drew back in disgust. But, to preserve his dignity and not to be seen as a squeamish creature, he shook his hand...beard.

"Then our wager is set.

...

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><p>I need to draw Ladrón de Moneda.<p>

Look up his name in Google translate o.o His beard's longness is based off of Xibalba's concept Art.


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